Through the thick curtain of forest to the other side, where the city of tents had been created. Hundreds milled about in the medical area—injured, dying. Wails of pain and misery met his ears.
Jonas kept moving, his legs weak. Finally he reached his destination—the chief’s tent. These tents—supplied by the Limerians—were larger than any Paelsian cottage he’d ever seen. This was where the elite rested and took their meals, which were lavishly prepared by dedicated cooks and servants.
While eleven-year-old boys fought and died in battle two miles away.
Basilius’s guards recognized Jonas despite his covering of fresh blood—his own and that of those he’d killed—so they didn’t protest when he pushed through the flap leading into the expansive, furnished tent. Bile rose in Jonas’s throat to see such luxury after what he’d just experienced for the last half day.
“Jonas!” the chief exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Please, come in! Join me!”
Exhaustion and pain made him stumble as he walked. He feared his knees would give out completely. The chief’s gaze went to his injured side and over his face, noting his wounds. “Medic!”
With only a word, a man approached and pulled at Jonas’s shirt to inspect his wounds. A chair was suddenly behind him and he sat down hard. It was a good thing since he’d become very dizzy and disoriented. His skin was cold and clammy. The world suddenly appeared dim at the edges. He worked hard to breathe normally and regain his strength.
The medic worked on him, swiftly cleaning and bandaging the wounds.
“So tell me,” the chief said with a big smile. “How goes the battle?”
“Haven’t you been meditating all this time? I thought maybe you could see us through the eyes of birds.” He wasn’t sure why he said this. A child’s story, he vaguely recalled. One his mother believed.
The chief nodded, his smile staying right where it was. “It’s a gift I wish I had. Perhaps it’s one I’ll develop in the coming years.”
“I wanted to talk to you personally,” Jonas forced out. He worried about Brion now, feeling guilt about leaving the battlefield before the siege had been successful. He’d lost sight of his friend early in the battle. Brion could be out there dying, with no one to protect him in case an Auranian came by to finish him off. Or an errant arrow pierced his defenseless flesh.
With Tomas gone, Brion was as close to a brother as Jonas had.
His eye burned, but he chose to believe it was caused by the smoke from the chief’s pipe. The scent of crushed peach leaves and something sweeter filled the air. Jonas recognized it as a rare herb found in the Forbidden Mountains that allowed pleasurable hallucinations.
“Please, speak freely.” Dismissing the medic, the chief waved a hand and sat down behind a table that had previously held a feast. The bones of the slaughtered goat scattered across the surface along with a dozen empty bottles of wine.
“I have concerns,” he began, his jaw tight. “About this war.”
“War is something to be taken very seriously. Yes. And you strike me as a serious boy.”
“Growing up in Paelsia, I didn’t have much of a choice about that, did I?” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his words, but he didn’t succeed. “I’ve worked in the vineyards since I was eight years old.”
“You’re a fine boy. Your work ethic is commendable.” The chief nodded. “I’m so impressed that my Laelia found you.”
More like the other way around. Jonas had found Laelia. He has spent time in her bed, listening to her gossip about her friends, to her stories about her hateful snakes, all in an attempt to gain the chief’s confidence so that he might convince him to rise up against the Auranians and take what should have been theirs.
Even if Tomas had never been killed, Jonas would still want that for his country.
But this—this was wrong. He felt the truth of it deep inside him.
There was no time to play games. Boys were dying on that field, giving their lives to get a few feet closer to the palace walls. He had to say what he’d come here to say.
“I don’t trust King Gaius.”
The chief leaned back in his padded chair and regarded Jonas with curiosity. “Why not?”
“There are more Limerians here than Paelsians. The king’s reputation precedes him—one of brutality and greed. What guarantee do we have that after we give our lives to help him take Auranos that he won’t turn around and kill us? Enslave us? All so he can keep everything for himself.”
The chief pursed his lips and puffed on his pipe. “You really feel this way?”
Frustration coursed through Jonas. His heart pounded. “We need to pull back. Reassess before there are more casualties. A boy died in front of me, barely eleven years old. While I want to see Auranos fall, I don’t want our victory to be painted with the blood of children.”
The chief’s expression turned grave. “I’m not one to start something and back away.”